


those hardest to love (need it most)

by Anonymous



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse of italics, And Lots of It, Gen, Hurt Shane, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Not Canon Compliant, OKAY MIND THAT BIG OL TRIGGER WARNING CAUSE THAT’S WHAT THIS IS FOCUSED ON, Panic Attacks, Rape Recovery, Shipping If You Squint, amazing pals, and i hope you suffer as well, but they’re really at their core, can i tag it as, could probably use more banter but what couldn’t lbr, hey shane! ryan! please never read this, i actually cried while writing this??, i am Begging Y’all, i hate the word whump but, i wrote this in one fell swoop and was too lazy to edit it further, if it’s about people that really exist, it’s 2:29 in the morning, like you could read this as romantic i suppose, long discussion of past sexual assault, please write more of this trope, shane is Not a demon, shane whump, the ending is rushed, this is horrible i’m proud of it, this is probably ooc but read it anyway, why did i have to tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There are things proven to exist that are scarier than any ghost, and Ryan learns this the hard way.or, the one where the boys have a deserved emotional talk, and I project my feelings onto Youtubers.





	those hardest to love (need it most)

**Author's Note:**

> this is absolute trash and i know it, thus the anonymous posting, because i said to myself ‘wow, never write rpf’ and now i’m here, crying at 3 am and working out my issues through buzzfeed youtubers oh my gosh i hope no one ever links this venting crap back to me
> 
> also, no one has ever written this before? no one? like, i’ve seen fics where sexual assault has occurred, but it’s literally ALWAYS in the context of demons. one would think y’all‘d get on that.
> 
> title from fools by lauren aquilina. that and two ghosts by harry styles are the anthems of this fic.

Ryan first realizes something is truly wrong when Shane misses movie night.

Shane hasn’t missed a movie night in 4 years, even if they don’t have a movie to watch. Even if they don’t end up _watching_ a movie. Movie night has become synonymous with them screwing around, seeing if Sharpies will catch on fire and having some alone time together, and neither of them would miss it unless the world itself had ended. Maybe not even then.

That’s how he knows something is wrong, even though it’s been nagging at the pit of his stomach for the past week or so. Shane called in a small break from work, saying he had the flu. That’s another thing: Shane Madej has never been sick longer than three days in a row, if you’re being generous, in his life. It’s one of the infuriating things about him, that Ryan can be sick for two weeks and he bounces back after 20 minutes and a good vomit.

Ryan sits in his apartment, doing a lot of nothing, when he gets the text from Shane.

‘ _Hey, I’m not feeling up to tonight. Can we call a rain check?_ ’

Ryan looks down at his phone in concern, even though he knows Shane can’t see him.

‘ _sure! are you okay, though? you’re usually not sick this long. should you go to a doctor? can i bring you anything?_ ’

‘ _Nah, I’m fine. Just a little under the weather. See you tomorrow._ ’

Suspecting that his definition of ‘under the weather’ is any other man’s definition of ‘on death’s doorstep’, Ryan settles in for a night of absolutely no sleep, and resolves to talk to him at work the next day.

* * *

The fact that Shane actually shows up is a miracle, since it’s been more than a few days. He knows that everyone will ask all sorts of questions, because they care about him, which makes it worse, which makes him ask for more sick days.

He can’t stand to do much more than take hot showers and stay under the pillow fort he’s made in his room, barely bothering to eat or sleep. The circles under his eyes are darker than usual, and he hasn’t done laundry for a few days, but he picks what looks the cleanest and sets off to work.

He’s worrying Ryan, and that’s probably the worst of all. He can tell, as soon as he walks into their shared office, that there’s no getting out of this, so he mumbles something about getting coffee and does a glorified sprint to the nearest empty meeting room.

He needs to pull himself together, or someone’s going to start asking the questions he really doesn’t want to answer.

Standing over a table made from some sort of dark wood, maybe mahogany, he opens and shuts his eyes a few times, trying to ground himself to reality.

“Hey?” he hears from behind him, and flinches like he’s been shot. He whirls around, eyes wide, and—

It’s Ryan. Of course it’s Ryan, who he’s been desperately avoiding and, oh no, what if he thinks he did something to Shane, what if—

“We need to have a talk.” He pulls the door shut behind them, and Shane feels his heart skip a beat in his chest. No, this is Ryan, he’s safe, you know him, he would never—

He manages a halfhearted smile. “If this is about last night, I really am sorry. Guess I finally broke our streak. Maybe the demons are getting to me. Or all the black mold. Place your bets.”

Ryan’s lip twitches in the ghost of a smile, but he gestures to a seat. Shane’s eyes flicker towards the door. He sits.

“So, I—“ Ryan stops midsentence, eyebrows knitting slightly closer together. “Are you wearing three shirts?”

“Four, actually. I think TJ broke the thermostat again.”

“It’s summer. In Los Angeles.”

He shrugs as nonchalantly as possible, which is not very. “I get cold.”

“I’ve watched you go outside in snow wearing nothing but your boxers.”

“To be fair, that was more lack of laundry detergent than it was comfort—“

“Shane,” Ryan says in his I-am-not-fucking-around voice, which is much more intimidating than it should be for a man a foot and a half shorter than him.

He backs up a step. “Ryan.”

“What’s going _on_ with you? You tell me everything, and I figured I would give you some space, but this is affecting the—“

He’s aware he’s shaking now, and curses vaguely at his hands for betraying him. “Ryan,” he says, a bit louder.

“—show! Quite frankly, I’m worried, but if this is all some stunt you’re pulling, it’s unprofessional as all hell, skipping work to do—“ Ryan steps forward with every sentence until he’s backed Shane into a corner, and no, Ryan’s not like _that_ , he wouldn’t—

“Ryan,” he says in a voice so cold it no longer sounds like him, “get the _fuck_ away from me.”

Ryan stops, his eyes a mix of hurt and concern, but he steps back. Shane’s knees buckle underneath him, and he can’t get enough air into his lungs, the walls feel like they’re closing in on him and he is not going to cry in front of his best friend, he’s not, he _won’t_.

His vision swims in and out, and he can’t register anything beyond a vague rushing sound in his ears.

“—ane! Breathe, okay—“ Ryan’s voice cuts through the haze, and he tries to focus on it. His breath slowly comes back, and he realizes he’s on a conference room floor crying, and Ryan is definitely not going to let him get away with this one.

“Shane?” he says, and the way he says his name, with so much concern and worry and softness, makes him angry. He doesn’t deserve soft things, and he certainly doesn’t deserve Ryan. Not anymore.

Shane finds his footing somehow, stands up jerkily, and walks towards the door. His face is blanker than before. Ryan stays still for a moment, processing, before he realizes what he’s doing.

“I’m fine, really, I’m just worried, about filming, you know how it is, and I think I might just go, see what I can take home, I’m still not feeling super great, so if we could just—“

“Wait!” He grabs his arm, wrenching it behind him, and Shane _whimpers._ A low, hurt sound, like you would expect from a lost dog. “Please don’t.” He says it quietly, involuntarily, but Ryan still hears.

There’s a pause before he sits on the floor, obviously confused and waiting for him to follow. “Shane,” he says, “tell me what happened.”

“Well, shit,” he says, but he can’t deny the pleading expression on his friend’s face.

They don’t sit as close together as they normally would. Shane doesn’t think he would be able to handle it, the closeness. Both because it reminds him of _then_ , and it reminds him it’s better to go ahead and move away now, first, than have Ryan do so when Shane tells him what he wants to know.

He tries to think about how best to tell it. It’s played so many times in his nightmares that he almost managed to convince himself it wasn’t real, like what if it had never happened at all and he was just telling his friend about an elaborate dream he had once, and making himself look like an idiot—

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He looks like a fish, but Ryan doesn’t comment, just sits there, waiting. He feels himself start to cry again, and his face is already puffy, he probably looks like a wreck—

He takes a few deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Would you believe me if I told you I’d been possessed by a demon?”

Ryan laughs a little, but more to humor him than anything else. “Nope.”

“Damn, that’s what I thought.” He pauses, becomes serious again. “I, uh. Do you— do you remember when we went to film at Eastern State Penitentiary? Afterwards, instead of driving the whole way home, we all stopped at a hotel.”

Ryan nods, and Shane knows he’s committed now. He swallows.

“Well, uh. We had a room together, but I wanted to go walk around some. I hate to say it, but you really got me with that place. It was scary as shit. We had that one replacement for TJ, remember? His name was... his name was Peter. I don’t remember his last name.” That’s a lie.

“So I told you I was going out, and I did. It was a pretty nice place, and I saw Peter out walking around. Had the same idea, I guess. He was a little taller than me, if you can believe it. He, y’know, made conversation, and you know how bad I am at small talk, but I tried. Talked about the shoot, and how they planned to edit it, and stuff like that.”

He takes a deep breath. The next part, even though he remembers every detail, is the hardest to describe.

“He, uh. I was— It went downhill after that. It.” He takes a small breath, his voice very small. “I didn’t... I told him to stop. I should have fought harder. I swear I tried. I was exhausted, and he was athletic, and I—“

Ryan is not stupid, no matter what anyone says. He looks at him, eyes wide and full of anger. It makes Shane feel worse, knowing he did that.

“Did,” Ryan starts, and Shane prays he won’t say it. “Shane,” he breathes in, “did he rape you?”

Every part of him hurts: his head, his stomach, his mind. The word sounds like metal on metal, and the room suddenly gets much too quiet. He screws his eyes shut. Ryan waits for an answer.

“I was being dumb. He gave off a whole vibe I didn’t like, and I stayed there anyway, like an idiot. It was, uh, he took me back to his hotel room. It wasn’t. Like. In the garden or whatever.”

The words seem like they’re pouring out of him, and now that he’s opened the floodgates, they can’t stop. “He was too strong, and he said I looked so beautiful, that I was leading him on. That I deserved a,” his voice breaks, “a real man.” Ryan looks like this is hurting him to hear, which makes Shane keep going. He wanted to know, and now he’s going to.

“I’ve never— I’ve, uh, haven’t done anything like that before.” His voice is still barely a whisper. “It was, I don’t know. I remember that my throat hurt, from all the screaming, and when he was done, he thanked me for a good time. How fucked up is that? I couldn’t find my clothes, and when I did, I couldn’t wear them because they— they smelled like him, which was dumb.”

Ryan finally says something, and his horror is almost worse than the silence. “We had a two day trip back. You were alone with him again.”

Shane rubs roughly at his face with the back of his sleeve. “Yeah. Yeah, he. He tried some shit again, and that was what was what’s really messing me up. He said I wanted it, and I didn’t even try to stop him, after that. Could he even do anything worse?” The answer was yes, but Ryan didn’t need to know that.

Ryan sucks in a breath of air at the implication of ‘again’. “Have you told anyone else? The police?”

“No!” he says, panicked. “We—you can’t. We can’t go to the police.”

“He has to get fired, at least! He could do this to other people!”

He lets out a groan of frustration. “No. He, he—“ Shane buries his head in his knees, and it takes him a moment to look up again. “He took videos.”

“What?” Ryan asks, sounding truly horrified for the first time since this whole ordeal began. Shane would be disgusted with himself, too. He’s taken seven showers this week, and still feels filthy.

“That was how he would keep me silent. Said I was teasing him with all of our videos. He’ll release it. On the official channel. I can’t— Ryan, I can’t deal with everyone seeing that. The fans. The crew. He made me say I was enjoying it, but I wasn’t, I swear, do you think the press will take that as an excuse though—“

Shane trails off, and Ryan nods. “Can you think of anything else to tell me? In case you want to tell the police later?”

He suddenly feels angry and exhausted; it hits him like a wave. “Why, do you want to hear all the juicy details?”

“What? No! You know I didn’t mean that, I was just—“

“You were just what?”

“Being prepared!”

“Oh, _I’m_ sorry. What did you want to know, again? How I screamed for you when you couldn’t hear me, and now I can barely say your name without hearing him mock me for it? How I curled up on the bed and cried for hours and didn’t sleep at all, because I couldn’t bear to see you again?”

“ _Shane_.”

“How, the third time, he made me strip for him, and I did it, and maybe he was right, maybe I wanted it, because he made it feel good then, and that was worse, I can’t, I don’t—“ His chest heaves in and out, and he’s sobbing.

“Shane!” Ryan yells. “Stop it!”

The world is still for a second, as all the words that have come rushing out of his mouth swirl around and threaten to drown him. He curls in on himself, forming a tight ball. “‘m sorry.”

They both pause, listening to the other breathe.

“I have to tell someone. But what if they— What if they don’t believe me?”

“I believe you,” says Ryan. In the moment, it feels like that’s the only person whose opinion matters.

“I know,” he says, and that’s the truth. “I can’t let him do this to anyone else.”

“We’ll go to the police tomorrow. Alright?”

Shane nods before taking one final deep breath. “Well, what do you say we get off the floor that hasn’t been cleaned since 1973, and go to your place?”

Ryan hesitates.

“Oh!” Shane rambles. “Or if that’s not good, my place. Or I. Um. I understand if you don’t want to see me again, for a while, that’s. That’s understandable.”

“What? Shane, I don’t—“ Ryan waves his hand in the air, as if shaking away invisible bugs. “I love you. I was just, is it okay if I give you a hug? You can say no.”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles. “That—that would be nice. I think.”

Ryan leans over, and his touch feels much less claustrophobic, much more comforting. They stay that way for a minute, before getting up and making their way out the door and through the office. It takes about 35 seconds for things to become awful again.

“Hey,” says a voice to their left, as Shane is trying to not let any of his coworkers see how much of a wreck he is. “Ryan. Shane.” The way he says Shane’s name sounds like a prayer, and Ryan spins on his heel.

“I need to see Shane for a minute.” Peter is dripping charisma, and Ryan hates him instantly. “Editing stuff, you know how it is.” Shane stands in place, frozen like a deer in headlights.

“Sorry, we’re actually about to head out for lunch. You’ll have to ask him about it later,” says Ryan, jumping in.

“No, it’s urgent. A scene we need his input on.” His voice becomes harder suddenly. “Come _on_ , Shane. You don’t wanna keep me waiting, do you?”

He looks like he’s going to accept his offer when Ryan grabs Shane’s arm (even though it’s almost as long as him), pulls it over his shoulder, and drags him in the opposite direction. “Like I said,” his voice as steely as Peter’s, “maybe some other time. I’m sure we have a while until it needs to be finished.”

Shane looks at Ryan, grateful and terrified, as they make their way to his apartment.

* * *

Things get better.

Not particularly fast, and certainly not all at once, but they do.

As terrified as Ryan is of ghosts, ghouls, and things that go bump in the night, those are things he knows how to process. He can deal with those. This is new territory.

Ryan sees to it that Peter loses his job, has a trial that doesn’t go public, and the footage is deleted off of every device it’s been saved to. It may or may not involve some punching. He can’t quite recall. This is one case he refuses to let remain unsolved.

He worries about Shane a lot, and then feels bad for worrying, and then worries about feeling bad for worrying. It’s not his problem to feel stressed about, but it is, isn’t it? They’re best friends, and no matter how angry he is at the person who tried to break this amazing, wonderful man, he’s determined to love Shane even more than he’s furious at Peter. Shane makes it easy, after all.

Shane has to tell more people, eventually, give his testimony to an officer and give the short version to some of his friends. His parents. It doesn’t become any easier, but they work through it together. They always do.

It’s like herding cats to convince Shane that he needs to go to therapy, but Ryan does it. He wakes up from the 3rd nightmare in one day and says, “Maybe you‘re right.” It helps, no matter how apprehensive he is at first. He goes through three therapists before finding the right one, but it goes well.

There’s a few rough edges, like the time during a sleepover that Shane tosses and turns for a solid hour before talking to Ryan through the darkness. “Hey?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t. Y’know. You don’t think I’m a slut, right? Cause one of Luka’s friends said that today, and I’ve just been thinking about it, like, _he_ said it too, so—“

Ryan rolls over and wraps his arms around Shane’s unfairly large torso. “I love you, so much more than I can ever express. And anyone who doesn’t is missing out.”

Nothing’s perfect. He has panic attacks, and the people close to him learn to avoid certain phrases, certain scents, certain things. The shows that directly involve Shane are put on a hiatus that they call a medical leave, which isn’t a total lie. Eventually, he returns. The day Ryan attempts to end a Post Mortem and is interrupted by Shane pulling out his phone, he’s pretty sure everything is going back to their new normal.

(“I thought we were done with this! You promised no more Hot Daga.”

“I did no such thing. The Hot Daga can never truly die, Ryan. When you cut off one head, 7 more grow back in its place. Maybe this sort of storytelling is why they compare me to Poe.”

“Literally— literally no one, ever, has compared you to Poe.”

”I just did.”

”You’re insufferable, you know that?”

”Just wait till we get to this season’s finale. I learned to play the piano solely for its song.”

”I hate this.”)

The two of them still have movie nights.

And, as Ryan watches Shane throw popcorn at an especially bad Netflix original almost a year from that night, he thinks about everything that’s gotten them here. Life’s not perfect. It’s not the same as it was before, but it’s getting there, and that’s alright for the two of them, in this moment. Side by side on an old, faded couch, mocking the TV mercilessly, not sure where one starts and the other ends.

They’ll be okay.

That much he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed, if you committed to this crap! please leave a comment, they make my entire year.


End file.
